She who knows that things are not what they seem,
who says only things that are not,
who says very little

She who gazed invisible out of a locked window for a lifetime
and who is inexorably free, though
she never shattered the window.

The worlds she walks are many,
but slow she walks, and gently
the most vicious fire that ever burns in her eyes
is the gentle flame of openness,
her eyelashes enclose her true name
better than her lips could
(Eye kisser)

Many worlds offer much resistance
to how those eyes would vanquish them.
She knows not why She is a monument
to the clashing of worlds.  The bloom
of civilizations of love and the shudder
of civilizations of turmoil.